


One look, in one moment I was yours

by livvy_luu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Blacksmith!John, M/M, Medievalock, New Meeting, alternative universe, knight!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvy_luu/pseuds/livvy_luu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If John was honest with himself he would admit that he hated knights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One look, in one moment I was yours

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on my tumblr awhile ago but thought I would also put it here :) it's just another one shot, of the red thread of fate pulling Sherlock and John together like always

If John was honest with himself he would admit that he hated knights. Yes they are his main source of income but they don't have to have their heads so far up their own arse that they can't tell their food from their shit....

But none the less he must get his commissions completed otherwise it'll be his head on a pike. A small smirk covers his lips he would love to see them try and fight him they're all just a bunch of arrogant noblemen they've never been in a real fight. 

His work shop is small but efficient, he is well known for his skills with metal work even his king wears a decorative armour set made by him it’s truly John's greatest achievement. He has an apprentice by the name of Gregory Lestrade originally from Scotland he travelled with his family to find a quieter life in England. Whom sadly, the moment they settled his wife ran away with another man. He gives Greg a curt nod as he enters his work shop. Fires burning and the smell of coal and liquid metal surround him. "Right Greg, we have a few repairs added to our list. Nothing major, just fixing small breaks." 

He feels Greg's eye from even with his back turned to face the fire, metal already bubbling away. "Just once I want those bloody knight not to damage their stuff!" John can't help but snort as he hears the complaints of his friend, hammering with a great huff. 

The blond man sets to his work on wielding the ceremonial sword commissioned by Sir James of Buxton. With a new iron rod he begins to hammer on his anvil the intense sound is his own personal symphony where he is the conductor of such beautiful music, his tang perfectly formed within minutes allows John Watson to move onto his personal favourite part of the process the moulding of the blade.

Placing the tip into the burning fire, the blacksmith watches in awe as his masterpiece glows with fury, immediately placed back on the anvil he begins to mould. Once, twice and thrice he hits the same position of the blade causing the rod to grow flatter, then immediately flips the blade to remove the ridges of his hammer. Once that is all done he moves one inch up and begins the whole process again. It is truly a task one must grow to endure, his body already drenched in sweat wearing his leather waistcoat was not a good idea. The beads of sweat from his forehead hit the iron causing the Metal to hiss, with one final hit he places the blade back into the flames. His back is drenched and his shirt is almost transparent and with one swift movement both waistcoat and shirt are removed. 

The blond allows for a small rest as he waits for the blade to heat. He wipes his sodden forehead with his shirt and from the corner of his eye that's where he sees it; a glimmer of shining silver. He turns his head toward the object of his attention, and he truly wasn't ready for what he was about two see. A knight, a knight of skin so pale that if he stands in the summer heat for any longer he will surely turn to Ash. The armour is not his own work, he would remember that face. Those perfect cheekbones and oh god, John has never seen eyes quite like the ones on this strange even from the distance between them he can see them glimmer in the English sun. Sadly the knight turns his face to talk to his squire but still John can't help but carry on looking. John hadn't noticed he had stopped breathing until a number of people walked between him and this piece of artwork to course the knight to disappear. Once the mass of people moved on John once again loses all the air in his lungs, the piercing eyes are staring at him; he can feel his soul ripping out of his body to move closer to this stranger. Watching a grin form on the Knights lips causes John to finally look away and a groan escape his lips. This knight cannot be human he must be a god or even a demon and John honestly doesn't care, if this stranger were the devil himself then he will happily walk to hell. 

The immortal eyes slowly fall over John's body before finally leaving the blacksmith and back to his squire who is moving away, and with one final look the stranger follows foot of his horse and squire toward the castle.

John's mind finally snaps back to reality, remembering the sword in the fire. He starts working once again. If John was honest with himself, he would admit that he has never seen a man or woman quite so fascinating as the pale knight, maybe he doesn't hate all knights.


End file.
